


Her Rightful Place

by ViscountMelbourne



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Berk (How to Train Your Dragon), Berserker Island, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, Dragons: Riders of Berk, F/M, Hairy Hooligans, Post-Race to the Edge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-08-10 15:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViscountMelbourne/pseuds/ViscountMelbourne
Summary: Dagur the Deranged is now in his late forties. He has 4 children, but he's lost his wife, Mala, to disease.  Will the Chieftainess Sassa, of an isolated island and tribe trying to take it's place in the Barbaric Archipelago, be able to bring back his love for life? And will Dagur convert to a new religion?Set in an alteranate timeline after How to Train Your Dragon 2





	1. Meeting of the Archipelgo

The Viking warrior burst into the Hall. "There's been another attack!" he shouted. All sound in the Hall quieted and all movements ceased. The Chieftainess dismissed everyone from the Hall except the messenger.

"Tell me, was anyone hurt?" she asked.

"No, but it was a near run thing," he answered. She was glad that everyone was alright, but this was the third time in as many weeks. Something had to be done.

"Keep the watch out and keep doing what you're doing- it seems to be working. At least no one was hurt and obviously we were fine here in the Hall," she said. She asked the warrior to send for her scribe, then dismissed him as well. After a few minutes, her scribe hurried in, carrying ink and parchment.

"I need to post a letter to Hiccup at Berk, Atali, Frida, and Dagur. Let them know that another attack has occurred. I want a meeting amongst all the chieftains to address this issue.'' The scribe set to work as Sassa dictated.

Dagur the Deranged, Berserker Chief, did not want to leave his island. Sassa had invited the Chieftains, Queen, and tribal leaders to her island, but Dagur couldn't be bothered. She supposed she should be satisfied that he had even agreed to an assembly, but after the latest onslaught by the man's offspring, she wasn't feeling particularly charitable. She'd ask for God's forgiveness- after she got over her snit. She tried to pray, but she knew her heart wasn't ready. She looked out across the sea and listened to the oars as they sliced through the water. She needed to compose herself. She would have to hold her own amidst the royalty of the Barbaric Archipelago.

The longship approached the shore of Berserker Island. Dagur and his guard were ranged across the beach, ready to pull in their boat. He was clad in the Skrill-decorated armor he'd worn for the last twenty years or so, the Skrill dragon being the emblem of the Berserker Tribe. His chestnut hair was streaked with silver, with patches of white along the temples. His beard was snowy, but better trimmed than when she'd last seen him, so many years ago. It had been after Stoick the Vast's death. Sassa had come home to Berk to mourn the passing of her uncle, to find her long-lost Aunt Valka had returned. There had been both lamentation and rejoicing. Dagur, his Sister, Heather, and their families had come to offer their condolences, and salute the new Chief of Berk, Hiccup Haddock, III. She'd made herself scarce whenever Dagur was around those few days. She trusted Hiccup's assertion that Dagur was no longer so deranged or violent, but she'd not wanted to make friends with him, as the Dragon Riders had clearly done. She didn't want to conciliate, now. The Viking vessel was hauled ashore. Dagur stepped forward to greet her. Up close, the lines on his face were accentuated by the sunlight. The blue claw mark tattoo around his left eye crinkled as he smiled and held out his hand to assist her from the ship. "

Dagur had come down to the coastline to hail his guest from Cloud Vale Island, as the rest of the rulers would arrive by dragon. Hiccup and Astrid would bring Frida from Caldera Cay. He idly wondered about Sassa, Chieftainess of the Kithandkin Tribe. Their tribe did mot mix much with others from the Archipelago. They didn't tame or ride dragons, and they had a strange religion. He was inclined to live and let live, but this matriarch had commanded a gathering of leaders to complain about the havoc his son, Bjorn, was causing all the islands. Dagur was at his wit's end with the boy and irritated with this woman for highlighting his failings as a father before his peers. A craft was spotted at the horizon, and his guard and servants lined up for service. When the long ship was close enough, the guard helped its crew to heave the vessel on land. He approached to assist Sassa to embark. She wore a blue shift, with a green hangerock dress over top. The turtle brooch that held the straps of her dress were bronze and the glass beading strung between them were colorful. She had dark gray curls peeping out from underneath a kerchief tied around her head, and her face was pink from wind. Her forehead was creased with worry lines, but there were laugh lines around her mouth, suggesting that she wasn't always grave and staid. She finally lifted her gaze, and Dagur was struck by her amber eyes. He reached out to her, saying, "Welcome to Berserker Island! My servants will show you to your guest quarters."

Sassa placed her hand in his much larger one. "Thank you," she replied.

"Your son is a danger to life and property! We can't continue to turn a blind eye to this behavior. Cloud Vale Island has had to rebuild several longhouses, we've lost sheep, yaks, and reindeer, and had quite a few injuries!" Sassa raged.

"I thought you said he's a threat to lives. Who died?" Dagur countered, condescendingly.

"No one YET!" Sassa was beside herself with fury. The Berserker Chief was being utterly flippant, showing a casual disregard for the other tribes of the Archipelago. Though he'd become a decent leader of this people, he remained impulsive, vain, self-centered, and hasty. Heather had obviously gotten the brains of the family, in Sassa's opinion.

"Then don't worry about it," defied Dagur. "I'll replace your animals, and I'll come help rebuild. He's like I was at that age. In fact, he's much less destructive than I was. He just needs to find his calming influence."

Sassa swelled with indignation. "I don't want your help on my island! I am sick of the state of crisis in which we've all been placed! I want a solution! If he invades Cloud Vale Island again, he will be shot down, and imprisoned. It is plain Bjorn IS just like you- Deranged!" She slammed her hand on the table.

Dagur's shift of mood was lightning-quick. He jumped to his feet, stabbing the knife with which he'd been toying into the wood. His face contorted. This short, round woman needed to take her sharp nose out of his family's business. "You will not dictate to me how to deal with my son! I understand him and I care for him, as you do not! I will not bow to your threats! BACK OFF!!'

The tension in the room was palpable. "Let's all calm down," interjected Hiccup. "I'm sure we can talk this out and find a way to resolve the issue. First, Dagur, we all know that you love your son, and you want to help him. We'd like to find an answer to the problem at hand- the attacks- that ideally will not impact your relationship with Bjorn, or the partnerships here in the Barbaric Archipelago. We are your allies and friends."

Hiccup turned to Sassa. "We've all experienced a raid or two and share your desire for peace. Everyone at this gathering has the best interests of his or her people in mind. Please don't let your temper override the good sense that you are known for, Sassa. We can and will figure this out together."

"I have a question," Astrid piped up. Though Hiccup was the Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, his wife was wise and capable in her own right. She was always included in these sorts of meetings. "Does Bjorn have any sort of plans for his position in your tribe or around the archipelago?"

Dagur plopped back down on his throne of swords. "No. He doesn't like any of the ideas I've put to him. He could be in the Armada, work on defense of the Island, or apprentice with any Jarl here. I keep telling him he needs to find an occupation. Harald will become Chief after me, so Bjorn will need to find something."

Astrid and Heather, included as Dagur's Second in Command, exchanged a look. They'd discussed the issue late into the night and hit on an idea. It was time to see if Dagur was receptive. Astrid spoke again. "Bjorn seems to enjoy exploring, although he doesn't have anything to do when he visits somewhere. When we were young, many islands were unknown, and we found them. They are mapped, and Fishlegs has catalogued all the dragons, along with most of the plants and their descriptions. Bjorn doesn't have the same opportunities we did, but he clearly longs for more than life on a fairly peaceful island. You've mentioned your boredom at times with your position, Dagur. If he is like you in personality, he needs stimulation beyond what the Barbaric Archipelago can provide. May I make a suggestion?"

"Of course." Dagur still seemed agitated, but he was listening. Heather knew this was a good sign and gave Astrid an imperceptible nod.

"Perhaps he could go on a trip with one of the traders to Shetland or Orkney. Those wouldn't be terribly long trips, and he could see how trade is conducted outside our area. If he likes it, he could go further, to Norway, or Scotland, or somewhere like that. If that is to his liking, he could apprentice with a trader who trades as far as he wishes."

Atali nodded approvingly, and Hiccup looked impressed. Frida, Dagur's eldest daughter and Queen of the Defenders of the Wing, appeared thoughtful. Heather was anxious to see Dagur's reaction. He had a controlling nature, and she'd already had a difficult time convincing him that Bjorn's twin, Sylvi, should be a Wingmaiden, her dearest wish and ambition. He'd known that Frida would leave home since her birth, as she was Mala's heir. But Mala's death and Frida's departure had still been a severe blow. Obviously, Harald would be staying, but Dagur still wanted his youngest children with him on Berserker Island, where he could dabble in their lives. Not only was this unhealthy for all of them, but his children clearly had other ideas. Heather wasn't sure Dagur would go for the proposal that Bjorn would leave, not just Berserker Island, but also the Barbaric Archipelago.

Dagur simply stared at Astrid, momentarily speechless, a highly unusual state for him. He wanted to give an unequivocal, "NO", but remembering his own turbulent youth- for him and the Archipelago- thought the idea had merit. His Mala was gone, his Frida was in Caldera Cay, and his Sylvi was leaving him for Wingmaiden Island. Only his sons would be left. Harald was a good and capable leader, much like his mother. Dagur got on well with Harald. Bjorn was more like himself, but that seemed to be a wedge between them. Dagur felt like he should know how to control Bjorn's impulses, but nothing worked. Bjorn rejected him and his promptings at every turn. Each time this happened, guilt followed on its heels. Dagur recalled his own father trying to advise him, and how he'd rejected Oswald. The man had been lost at sea, and rather than send out a search party, Dagur had let everyone assume he'd murdered his father to become Chief. Oswald had, in fact, died on Vanaheim, where he'd shipwrecked, but not for many years. Bjorn didn't have to prove how tough he was, or anything else, to anyone, but the boy didn't seem to know it. Dagur was at the end of his rope. "I'll have to meditate on it," he rasped, and strode from the Hall.

Heather looked around at the tribal leaders. "There isn't anything else that we can do right now. We'll have to wait for Dagur to process this. I promised my littles I'd play with them before dinner if I had time. You are welcome to explore the island or do whatever you'd like. Servants will be sent to inform you when dinner is ready."

Hiccup, Astrid, Frida, and Atali began chatting as they moved toward the door. Sassa lagged behind. She'd called the meeting, but she felt like it was all beyond her. competence. Hiccup was her cousin, but she was several years his senior, and left Berk as a young woman. The other leaders were all friends of his to varying degree, and they'd known one another for a long time. By contrast, Sassa was not a hereditary Chieftainess. Her husband's family was sickly and short-lived. Most of them had died childless, and even the children whom Sassa had birthed had not survived early childhood, except Erik, now fifteen. His father had passed when he was four, and he would become Chief once he attained his eighteenth year. Sassa was chosen as a regent, with the only other remaining family member, his Aunt Hilde, as Chief Protector. With Hilde's assistance, and knowledge of medicinal herbs, Erik had lived past his fifth birthday. If he lived past eighteen, Sassa would step down from the role of Chieftainess, and take up the role of matchmaker to continue the succession. Sassa considered herself more of a steward of Erik's inheritance. In three more years, he would be Chief of the Kithandkin Tribe. There hadn't been many assemblies of the tribal leaders in the years she'd been serving, so she barely knew most of them. The others were still talking amongst themselves as Sassa crossed to her hut, close to the Berserker Great Hall. She felt overwhelmed and lonely but reminded herself that she must see this through for her son and her people. Gaining the safety of her room, she removed her headscarf, and began to pray to the Christian God, whom she'd been taught lived in her heart, loved her, and was always with her. Prayer brought her more peace of mind, but she still selfishly wished she wasn't so humanly alone.

Dagur sat cross-legged in his private garden high atop a tor overlooking much of the village and gazed across the sea. He watched the waves crash ashore for a few moments before closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and casting all concern from his mind. It had become increasingly difficult to tame his chaotic thoughts. Bjorn's behavior had gone from a personal family matter, to an island issue, to a full-scale political incident. He couldn't focus as emotions threatened to overtake the meditative session. Dagur began to count beats to slow his respiration. After many interminable minutes, he relaxed a bit. He wasn't serene, by any means, but calm enough to think. He turned over Astrid's proposal in his mind. It made sense, but he loathed the idea that he'd lose yet another family member. Sometimes he still missed Mala so much his chest would tighten, and tears would flow. He forced his attention back to the issue at hand. He supposed if Bjorn wanted a different life, Dagur would have to allow him to pursue his own path. Oswald had not been able to make Dagur into the son of his expectations, nor could Dagur force Bjorn to stay on Berker Island, behave himself, and like it. He wasn't sure how to put the scheme to Bjorn, though. The boy would reject it outright, just because it had come from his father. Dagur would have to ask his friends' ideas on that.

As Dagur hiked back down toward the village, he came across Hiccup, Astrid, Heather, and Frida out strolling together. He joined their group, letting them know his decision, and putting his dilemma before them.

Frida responded, "Let me ask him about it, Dad. I'm almost an outsider now, but still family. Also, we're more like equals, so he won't hear it as a command." Everyone agreed that this sounded sensible, so they left the matter to Frida. Heather suggested the tribal leaders reconvene the next day to discuss how to find Bjorn. Just then, a servant showed up to announce that dinner was ready.

Sassa sat with Atali during dinner. They'd been informed about the conversation to be held the following day when they entered the Great Hall. The women floated a few ideas about tracking Bjorn, then moved on. Sassa asked Atali about the razorwhips that the Wingmaidens raised. She was fascinated by the dragon nursery on the island, and the logistics of caring for razorwhip babies. Atali patiently answered her questions. Sassa was eager to get back to her hut to record the information she'd learned on parchment to share with her son when she returned to Cloud Vale Island. He would need to have an understanding of his neighbors in the Barbaric Archipelago when he became Chief in a few years. Sassa told Atali about Erik. She'd wanted to bring him with her to Berserker Island, but his Aunt Hilde had argued that this would be an advantageous opportunity for him to put some of his training into practice as Acting Chief while she was away. There was wisdom in that plan, as well, and it meant Erik would be safe at home, as well, so Sassa had capitulated.

Dinner came to a close, and the leaders began to disperse. Hiccup sought out Sassa, asking if he and Astrid could visit for a while. Assenting, Sassa led them to her guest house. There was a wooden bench along the outside wall, so they settled themselves there. They could hear the bleating of sheep and yaks nearby, as well as the clucking chickens in a coop further away, and the chirping of crickets all around. The night was not yet too cold, so they didn't wear cloaks, but Astrid and Sassa both wrapped their shawls as hoods about their heads and shoulders. Hiccup shared a bit of news he'd received from Berk in a Terror Mail that day: it wasn't pressing, but he'd sent a reply quickly all the same. Astrid asked after Erik, and shared tidings of their daughter, Zephyr, now twenty-one, and Nuffink, their son, now eighteen. Presently, Hiccup cleared his throat. "So, tomorrow, um, I just want to make sure are OK with how our problem with Bjorn is being addressed. I don't want you and Dagur to fight again. You are both passionate people and that is a good trait to have, but I want it to be productive, not divisive. I wondered if I can help reassure you about what's going on?"

Sassa sighed. "I hated even asking to meet I truly don't want to meddle in Dagur's affairs. But the effect of his son's behavior is detrimental to my people. I know I was out of line when I called Bjorn deranged, and I will apologize, first thing in the morning. I vaguely remember Dagur that time he came to Berk to sign the treaty, when we found out he'd become the Chief of the Berserkers. He frightened me, frankly. Thank heaven I was off to Cloud Vale before he invaded and took Uncle Stoick hostage! I see that pattern repeating with Bjorn, and there is no guarantee he will change as Dagur has- mostly. I wasn't completely certain he wasn't going to throw that knife at me."

"He wouldn't," Hiccup assured her. "Even when he used to throw knives at me, he knew enough to miss, although at the time I didn't know that was intentional. Besides, he hasn't thrown a knife at anyone in a long time, to my knowledge. He uses pell trainers now."

"And I talked with Heather," Astrid chimed in. "Dagur is aware of the mayhem Bjorn has sown, and Dagur wants to put an end to it. She says he's afraid to admit he might not be able to save Bjorn from his own bad choices. He's also been more attached to his kids since losing Mala to an illness that swept through here several years ago. It makes for a complicated situation, but for him to even consider the recommendation that Bjorn leave the Archipelago is a big step forward. All we can do now is wait to see what Bjorn will do."

"I do actually feel a great deal of sympathy for Dagur," Sassa acknowledged.

"I know," Hiccup stated. "We all do. It is getting chilly and I see you both shivering. Let's all get a good night's rest so we can brainstorm tomorrow." They wished one another a good night and sought their beds.

The day dawned overcast, with a brisk wind. It was a reminder that summer was still some weeks away, despite the buds on the bushes and the soft shoots of green showing on the trees. Sassa entered the Great Hall to a sizable fire crackling in the grate. She made a beeline for Dagur, apologizing for her intemperate behavior the day before. He nodded distractedly. She removed her cloak, but pulled her shawl around her shoulders, as she seated herself on a bench next to Heather. They chatted for a jiffy until everyone was settled. Breakfast was laid out on a trestle table for them to dine on while they spoke. Dagur stood, restless. He paced a bit but affirmed his resolution to put the question of a trading apprenticeship to his son. Next, they must find Bjorn, then send him to Frida, who would make the suggestion to him. Frida and Sassa were the only tribal heads who did not ride dragons, so they let the others work out the details of the search. Longships were much slower and didn't have the sort of range of view that flying would bring, so Sassa's craft and Dagur's Armada were of little use. Harald and Sylvi could aid in the pursuit on their dragons. Frida would return to Caldera Cay to await the arrival of her younger brother. Sassa would sail back to Cloud Vale Island. She would only revisit Berserker Island if Bjorn went on any further raiding expeditions. The sky was still murky, so the hunt would begin on the morrow.

After the assembly, Sassa found her sailing crew to apprise them of tomorrow's departure. She came upon Heather with her niece, Sylvi. Sassa was invited to stroll with them, an invitation she accepted. She politely inquired about their island, economy, inhabitants, and system of government. She explained that she wanted Erik to have a good working knowledge of how his neighbors lived, so that he could more ably fulfill his diplomatic role when he ascended to the Chiefdom. Sassa admitted that, though she was humbled and gratified to be given the leadership of their people until he gained his majority, she was often overwhelmed and underprepared for some of the duties, especially negotiations within the archipelago. Hiccup was of extensive assistance to her in preparation for this council, but she wished for Erik to have as much information as she could bring back. Heather was a cautious woman, who treaded warily with those she didn't know well. She answered Sassa's queries readily but didn't give away any strategic data. Sylvi wasn't involved in politics, but was a fount of material on Berserker society, from the jarls down to the servants. Sassa was astounded at Sylvi's understanding of her people. Many nobles did not concern themselves with the plights or feelings of underlings.

Meanwhile, Dagur had commandeered Hiccup to join him for a hike around the forest. Never one to beat around the bush, Dagur began probing Hiccup straightaway. "Who is this Sassa of Cloud Vale? Do you know anything about her, other than her position as Chieftainess? How long has she been tribal leader? Does she have kids?"

Hiccup waited for Dagur to take a breath then jumped in before the man could loose another string of inquiries. "I know a lot about Sassa. She is my cousin and comes from Berk. Her mother and my mother were sisters."

Hiccup stifled a chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on Dagur's face. "Your cousin?"

"Yes," Hiccup affirmed. "She left Berk when I was fifteen to marry. Her husband and most of his family are dead, except for one sister. She has a son, Erik. When Erik turns eighteen in a few years, he'll be Chief. But Erik, like his paternal relatives, is sickly. He is often unwell, but his aunt is a Healer, hence her position as Protector of the Heir. He's the only one of Sassa's kids to have survived this long. The rest passed away as small children."

"Oh." It hadn't occurred to Dagur that Sassa may have faced toils raising her own children. Mala had had a couple of miscarriages, and one baby girl died soon after birth, but they'd been lucky that their other children, especially the twins, who had been so tiny, had grown to adulthood. He'd been so focused on his son, he'd not really thought about Sassa as a person, but more as an obstacle. He knew so little about her. He resolved to be more polite to her the next time he saw her.

Sassa tried to gather her things for the trip home. She'd rather wait out the search on Cloud Vale Island, where she could resume her normal routine. This gathering had been stressful, she hadn't been sleeping well, and she'd felt increasingly out of sorts. Her mind moved sluggishly, her body didn't want to move at all, and she had a chill that reached to her bones. Her head was swathed in her shawl and now she pulled her woolen cloak about her. There was also a fire in the middle of the guest house. It was late spring, so she'd not brought her fur-lined cloak, and she shivered as she thought of the wind out over open water. She stuffed a few last articles in her satchel, which seemed immensely heavier than when she'd arrived, and stepped outside. The warmth of the sun should have driven away the cold, but instead her face was burning. It dawned on her that she must be feverish. There was no worse time for being ill, but she couldn't stay, so she made herself begin the trek to the waterfront.

Dagur noticed Sassa leave her hut as he exited the Great Hall to head to the dragon stables. Sassa had been absent from breakfast. She was stooped and her motions were slow and jerky. He turned back to meet her on the path. As he got closer, he detected bright spots of pink on the cheeks of her otherwise pale face. She was bundled into her cloak and shawl, though the morning was somewhat warm. She must be ill, he thought. He caught up to her. "Good morning, Sassa. Are you alright?" he asked.

Sassa's voice was low and reedy when she replied, "I feel quite off-color today. I'm sure if I rest once, I'm home, I'll be fine, though."

"Why don't you stay until you are better?" Dagur advised. "Your hut is there for guests only, as long as you need it. Since you aren't joining the search party, you will have all the rest you need. You look like you have a fever, too. I'll send our Healer with some willow bark tea for you. Let me take your bag." He grasped her satchel.

Sassa allowed Dagur to take the shoulder bag from her. She wouldn't hear of staying, however. "No, I want to go home. I can't impose on your hospitality and your people." She made to move forward but swayed slightly. Dagur grabbed her around the waist and steered her back toward the cabin. Sassa protested all the way.

Hiccup walked up at that instant. He recognized there was some sort of difficulty. Sassa was leaning heavily on Dagur, who was directing her back to the cottage, rather than to her longship. He hurried over. "What's wrong?"

"Sassa is ill and I believe she should stay here to recover, but she thinks sailing is a great idea. Certainly couldn't make her sicker, could it? I've offered to send my Healer with willow bark, too. She is behaving like a stubborn female, insisting she should go, even though is barely able to walk to the shore. Reminds me of Mala. The woman rarely had so much as a cold, but if she did come down with something, Thor forbid someone try to help her. She might be with me still, if she'd not been so pigheaded. Maybe not. But Sassa is going to remain here!" Hiccup noted that Dagur had just casually compared Sassa to his late wife in exasperation, rather than the melancholy air with which he usually referred to Mala.

Sassa feebly repeated her wish to not be a burden to Hiccup, to no avail. Hiccup knew just how to persuade her. "Sassa, you don't want to bring an infection, not only to your people, but to Erik. Your son should be shielded from this, don't you think?"

Sassa admitted defeat. "You are right, Hiccup. I'll stay. Thank you, Dagur for your support."

Dagur rolled his eyes that Hiccup could accomplish her surrender so neatly. He nodded to Hiccup to get the door and set Sassa's bag inside, after depositing Sassa on the box bed. He poked his head inside the Great Hall as he passed, calling to a servant to fetch the Healer to Sassa, and ordering another to the cottage to attend to her. He then rushed up the track to the stables.

The dragon riders hunted all day, but found only camps where Bjorn had been, or heard of sightings from villagers. There were more islands within the archipelago to search before venturing further afield. They landed back on Berserker Island, each taking care to make sure his or her dragon had food and water and conferring with groomsmen to see to their comfort. All were in need of a wash up before dinner, so they departed to the longhouses. After performing their ablutions, Dagur and Hiccup each stopped to ascertain if Sassa's condition had worsened. They reached her door at nearly the same time. Hiccup knocked, inquiring of the maid who answered. The young lady informed them The Chieftainess Sassa had developed a head cold, with the requisite symptoms of sneezing, coughing, the sniffles, a fever achiness, stuffy head, and fatigue. The Berserker Healer had left willow bark tea, lavender water, and cloths. The old nurse came to check the patient every few hours. Just then, vigorous hacking was heard inside the cottage, followed by a groan. The maid tsked, annoyed that the men had awakened to the poor lady. Dagur delayed the maid only long enough to find out if Sassa had eaten. She assured her Chief that bread and broth had been brought for luncheon, and that Cook planned to send fruits, vegetables, and a bit of meat after everyone had been served in the Great Hall.

The following day was the same, with no success at locating Bjorn. On the third day of the quest, he was spotted in the Northern Markets. Heather landed, as she was purchaser for Berserker Island necessities when a trading ship was too long coming in, so it did not seem out of place for her to be there. She bought a few items to make her story believable, the "happened" to run into Bjorn. Heather gave him a simple message that Frida would love to see him, if he'd come to Caldera Cay sometime soon. She then moved on, perusing vendor stalls as if nothing was amiss.

The dragon riders were back on Berserker Island by early afternoon. After a small repast, Dagur looked in on Sassa. She was sitting up in bed, bundled under a sheepskin blanket, as well as a reindeer hide blanket. Her tawny eyes were watery, her nose red at the tip, and her skin was still whitish. Her fever had gone down, though, the maid told him. He pulled up a small stool. "We found Bjorn, and we are waiting to see if he will visit Frida," he apprised her. He thought she'd be pleased, but she sat solemnly watching him.

Finally, she spoke. "I'm so sorry you are having to deal with this. I know your family is paramount to you, as well as you tribe. You must feel torn in different directions, as to what is the best course. And none of the solutions work for you, do they? As a parent, that is how I'd feel."

Dagur shifted uncomfortably. He'd not been expecting a serious discussion, much less that the small woman would hit to the heart of his emotions. Only a few days before, she'd been insisting that he fix everything, although she'd apologized for her fit of temper. His first impulse was to shout at her for bringing this all down on his head, but she looked so weak and forlorn. A coughing spasm racked her body, and he waited until she stilled. "Frankly, it is awful," he conceded. "My sins of the past have come back to haunt me. I remember how horrible I was, and I wouldn't listen to anyone who tried to help me. I rejected my father for being what I saw as weak. Now my son and I are in the same position. I see from both ends of the stick, so to speak, but I don't know how to move to the middle. To make it all worse, I don't have Mala here to help. She was a great mother and wife. She always knew just what to say and do. Heather tries to advise me, but she has her own family and tribal responsibilities. I used to think I knew everything. Now I feel like I know nothing. Even meditation doesn't always work. Sometimes, instead of clearing my mind, I just end up ruminating on my mistakes. Do you know how I began meditating?"

Sassa shook her head. "I was shipwrecked on an island, only populated by dragons. I had never actually been that alone. I'd always had people to do my bidding, follow my orders, jump when I said 'jump'. The ship I'd taken had broken up. All I had were my instincts. I used bits of my ship to make a sort of door across the opening of a cave I found that was deserted. I gathered wood for a fire. That's all I had that first night. Over the next three months, I explored that island, learned where I could find water to drink and fish from, and found better shelter. I figured out tricks for escaping dragons and used others I'd learned from the dragon hunters I'd worked with. Some of it was trial and error. I was slashed by a talon along my shoulder blade. I bathed in the water but had nothing else with which to disinfect the wound, and only leaves available for a bandage. I couldn't reach the cut, anyway. It got infected. I had a raging fever and no clue what willow bark even looked like. I was certain I'd die, a feeling I hadn't had in battle, surrounded by others. I continued to go into the water every day, but I had no hope of getting better. I was too sick to fish or cook, and hunger was killing me, too. My life had been spent controlling others, pushing them away if they tried to be nice, seeing kindness as weakness. Now I was truly weak, alone, friendless, helpless, hopeless. I decided that, if I survived, I would change. I didn't know how, but I figured the first step was to think ahead, since that was what I'd been told by my father all my life. I was used to reacting, especially to my feelings. I recollected this old trader who came to our island when I was a child. He was from far away, and his skin, eyes, and hair were very dark brown. One day, my father was scanning the goods from the trader's ship. The man sat in the grass by the shore. His legs were crossed, his eyes were closed, and he was chanting softly, the same word, over and over. 'Ohm.' When he finally opened his eyes, I asked what he was doing. He said it was called meditation. He explained all about how he did it, and said it helped him think. So, there on my lonely isle, I tried it. Whenever I got overwhelmed by my moods, I meditated. I could think better. Meditation has worked for a long time. It still helps a bit. But this is even worse than when I thought I'd die, because it isn't me, do I have no control. Hiccup told me your son is sickly, and your husband and his family mostly died young. How do you cope, if you don't mind my asking?"

Sassa related her story, though frequently interrupted by shuddering coughs. "When I married, the Kithandkin Tribe was already Christian, converted by a trader who'd adopted the religion, become a monk, and come back as a missionary. It was part of my marriage contract to convert as well. I had a difficult time at first, but the local priest taught me all the rituals and liturgies I needed to know. That was all, for a while. I just did and said as everyone else. The old priest passed, though, and a new priest came to our village. He officiated the funeral for my first child, a boy who was stillborn. Father Ansgar could see that I was still inconsolable after several weeks. He came at first to sit with me as I cried. Then came my anger at this God of his. I asked why, if this God and his son were so good and loving, did they not stop my son from dying, particularly if we needed an heir? They didn't seem any more powerful than Berk's gods. I didn't really understand what God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the parts of the three-in-one God, called the Trinity, did. I did know that Jesus died, and He came back to life. There are stories of miracles, too. Why couldn't I have a miracle, or have my son come back to life? Father Ansgar told me that God doesn't stop the bad things that happen in the world, usually, even though he could, because He wants me to trust Him and come to Him with my anger and pain. I was stunned by this- the old priest had said that God didn't like to be questioned, and that we mortals should have faith that He knows best, or we wouldn't go to Heaven. Heaven is where the Trinity lives. When we die, we go to live with them, and all our tears will be wiped away. God has a large, beautiful, warm longhouse with enough room for all the Christians where we'll live, and the streets are made of gold. If we sin or do bad things, we must confess, then ask God to forgive us, or we can't go. Father Ansgar assured me that my understanding of Heaven was correct, and that God still loved me. He wanted me to tell Him all about my problems, even when I am angry or doubtful. He told me about Jacob, who, according to the Christian Scriptures, wrestled with God, and God blessed him. Prayers could be the prayers I learned at the church, or they could also just be me talking to God in my house, even thinking words, not speaking aloud. Father Ansgar taught me more about Jesus, too. Jesus was a human man, but He was God, too. He came as a baby, grew up, had emotions like us, but He was perfect and never sinned. Jesus died because there had to be justice for my, and all our sins. He was the one-time sacrifice, rather than an animal. But God brought Jesus back to life to show that even though we must die in this sinful life, we'll be alive again in Heaven with God and Jesus. And the Holy Spirit. The Spirit lives in our hearts, and along with the Scriptures, tells us what God wants us to know about how to live our lives, and everything He has promised us. Because the Holy Spirit lives in us, and is part of the Trinity of God, that means God is always with us. God promised that if I trust in Jesus to take away my sins, I'll live in Heaven when I die. Father Ansgar assured me that God had made my son, and even though my baby didn't get to live with me, he is living with God in Heaven. God knows my grief, because His son died, too. And wherever I go, God is always with me in my heart. I began to pray a lot, ask Father Ansgar to teach me more from the Scripture, and I learned to trust in God to go on with the life He's given me. Through the deaths of many loved ones, illnesses, a famine on our island for a while...all of it. I have learned that I am only able to move forward when I pray, let the Holy Spirit live in me, and remember my Scriptures.

Dagur didn't really comprehend a good bit of what Sassa said about her Christian God. He recognized, though, that she was devoted to this God, and he was a little intrigued. He could see that Sassa was fatigued, so he thanked her for talking with him, and let her nap before dinner. He went to his meditation garden, but instead of clearing his mind completely, he thought on about the deity Sassa had described. He guessed that "living in her heart" was something like Mala living in his. Odin had raised himself from the dead, so that kind of made sense. Dagur really wanted to know about the sin part. No sacrifices? If Jesus was the sacrifice, how did He know about the sins of people who were born after He died? And worse, what about Mala and their baby girl? They'd never heard of this Jesus, so they couldn't go to Heaven. They hadn't died in battle, so they weren't in Valhalla, either. Dagur mused a moment more, then decided to test to see if this God would respond. He spoke out loud, saying, "Sassa's Christian God, are you really there?" At that instant, a flock of ravens flew by, blocking and covering the sun. A Black Sun was a known omen among Vikings. Dagur was astounded. He needed to learn more about this Divine Being. He vowed to ask Sassa if he could come to Cloud Vale Island to meet Father Ansgar. Maybe the priest could answer his questions.

Sassa readied herself again to sail home. She felt much better, and the spring warmth was back. The tide was not completely high yet, so she had about two more hours until departure. She yearned for one last tour of this rocky island, to seal into her memory all that she wanted to share with Erik. And if, at some random time, a stray picture of the Berserker Chief in his homeland crossed her mind, no one would know, except her. Sassa tied her plain white head kerchief into place, and wrapped her cloak about her, fastening the neckline with a gold trilobed brooch. She was startled by a knock on the door of the hut. She saw as the servant opened up, the Berserker Chief himself, revealed. Sassa experienced an odd shiver; it was if she'd conjured him. She made her way outside.

"I saw you in the great Hall at breakfast," Dagur began, "but I didn't get to speak to you. I was wondering if you would care to accompany me to the dragon stables?"

Sassa agreed and fell into step with Dagur as they climbed the steep route. He was dressed in his workaday clothing, now that the search was over. His tunic was of a bright crimson hue, fastened with a tiny button. Braided trim in yellow and blue decorated the neckline. His trousers were brown, with blue swathing bands wound about his calves. He had carelessly thrown a cloak around him of the same brown as his trousers. It was beautifully embroidered, befitting his station. The leather cap he sported bore the same yellow and blue braid matching his tunic. Though no longer young, Dagur was still powerfully built. Even without armor, he was barrel-chested, with broad shoulders, and muscular arms. He gave the impression of preoccupation, so there was no chatting. When they reached the dragon shelter, he invited Sassa to sit on a bench outside. "I've been reflecting on what you told me about your God. Some of it was a bit strange to me, but I wondered if I might visit to ask some questions of your priest?"

Sassa was caught off guard, not only by Dagur's curiosity, but also with his request. The only guests of note to her little village were her relatives from Berk. After he'd abruptly refused her hospitality for peace talks, she'd assumed he would never deign to make an appearance at Cloud Vale Island, much less for religious pursuit. She tried to direct her cogitations toward the prospect of state attendance, but her wayward musings of spending time with this man were wreaking havoc with her pulse and breathing. She arduously reminded herself Dagur would be spending time with Father Ansgar, not her. Also, she had responsibilities to Erik and their people. She had no time for an errant attraction to a staying dignitary. She strove for a bland expression and placid tone as she replied, "Of course. Father Ansgar would be more than happy to teach you all about the Christian religion, I'm sure. We have an empty longhouse near the church that should be suitable for your stay."

"Thank you," said Dagur. "Have you ever communicated with Hiccup via Terror Mail?"

"Yes. He occasionally sends a Terror Mail, so he taught me hand signals to keep the terrible terror from flying straight home until I reply and instructed me on what foods it will eat."

"Great! I would like to send a terrible terror with you to Cloud Vale Island to learn the circuit, so that we can plan a convenient time. It will fly overhead, unless it becomes tired, then it may land on the dragon head on the bow of your ship. My hand signals will be different than Hiccup's, but I can teach them to you. Come into the stable, and you can meet my terrible terror, Bob. He's reliable and won't give you much trouble, except for the noise he makes. Dagur led Sassa into the barn past several dragons of varying sizes and hues. They passed through a tack room to a door. There was a staircase that descended to a cavern, where the Terrible Terror Mail Flock resided. They lived in groups, mostly within caves, so the Berserkers had tunneled into the system beneath the shelter up top. It didn't take long to reach the grotto, as it was not very far down. They could only go so deep. In the nether regions of the landmass, a bewilderbeest dragon had her lair. She lived more toward the island's center, so the dragons could fly in and out higher up and toward the coast, where her telepathic powers weren't as disruptive as she slept. There was a grand cacophony of squawks, chirps, and croaks. In the enclosed space, the sound ricocheted off the rocks, creating a thunderous roar. Dagur placed the oil lamp he carried on a ledge and made a hand signal in front of it. A small purple dragon whizzed over to the ledge. All the terrors bounced their upper bodies up and down like seabirds, but this one did so faster and deeper, as if he were repeatedly bowing to the humans.

Sassa giggled. "Obviously, this is Bob! His name is quite apropos!"

Dagur grinned. "Yes. Heather named him, but you are correct. Meet our humble Bob! Do you know how to tame him?"

Sassa reached out her hand, rotating her body so that she faced away from the shelf of rock, eyes closed. She felt a tap of scaly skin against her palm. She turned back to find Bob jouncing directly in front of her. She smiled at the diminutive dragon. "Hello, Bob. Would you like to explore a new isle?"

Bob hopped from foot to foot excitedly. Dagur whooped in the creepy style that had never left him. For his laugh alone, he was still termed "Dagur the Deranged."

"Come on Sassa. If you follow me, Bob will follow you. Normally he'd fly out to the sea through the cave opening, but I want to introduce you to our other dragons, if you're game."

Sassa nodded in response, and the trio trooped back up the stairs. Coming back into the light that flooded the barn from the open door and roof holes for smoke from the fires, Sassa stopped momentarily to let her eyes adjust. Bob flew around, then landed on a low stool near a dragon cage. The dragon inside was a green gronckle. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he was overjoyed to be approached by the humans. Dagur greeted the dragon as Shattermaster and related the tale of his injury in battle with dragon hunters. "He can't fly anymore, but he's still spry. Once his leg and tail healed up, we discovered he could work carrying loads. He hauls in the firewood up here, and other odd jobs. "Don't you, Shattermaster? You'll always be my first dragon!" Dagur crooned.

Shattermaster rolled over to let Dagur rub his belly. Sassa was familiar with gronckles from her girlhood on Berk. She loved their playful natures. Though her people on Cloud Vale didn't ride dragons, the creatures did occasionally land there. She'd brought Hiccup, Astrid, and the Dragon Riders of Berk to teach the tribe how to coexist peacefully with them. There was a gronckle who often returned to the village, and she'd tamed the dragon. She called her gronckle. Rakki. He was blue with yellow down his underside. She had the young people gather and leave food on the isle's shorelines for dragons passing through, and a few hand-picked Hiccup-trained men to send the dragons on their way if they made trouble. But she'd let Erik and his close buddies bring boulders up by the royal longhouse for Rakki whenever he came. He let Sassa rub his belly, just as Shattermaster did with Dagur. She hadn't seen the gronckle in a while; she hoped he was well and would come to her island after she returned.

Next, Dagur conveyed Sassa across the room to another cage that extended halfway down the wall of the shelter. Inside, a long, metallic dragon rested. "This is Heather's. Her name is Windshear. A razorwhip is beautiful and deadly, just like my sister. They are quite the pair. Let's walk up to the front." The cage between Windshear and the entrance held a brown, furry looking beast. The fur was, in fact, scales. The wooly howl belonged to Harald, and in the snowy months of the year, the animal could often be seen clinging to the mountain apex of Berserker Island. Blizzardbeater, as Harald had styled him, was impervious to the cold, and could fly within white-out conditions, seemingly unaffected. He could blend in with clouds due to his pale abdomen. He was from the Strike Class and shot ice blasts at his enemies. Crossing the aisle once again, they came to an enclosure with two winged creatures. They were both green, with brown spots. They were prickleboggles, retained by Frida and Sylvi. Larger than most prickleboggles, they were a bit smaller than Shattermaster. They had been the girls' first dragons to tame and ride. Frida could not take her Magiccrystal to Caldera Cay, as the Defenders of the Wing did not own dragons. They fought for the preservation of the majestic animals, and revered the razorwhip eruptodon, their Great Protector, who ate the lava that flowed from the volcano of their isle and kept the humans there safe from its fire. Sylvi, since her training to become a Wingmaiden would be living with razorwhips, spent much of her time with Windshear, learning from Heather about care of the shiny dragons. Magiccrystal and Deathmittens Pointyteeth would remain on Berserker Island. Their mist-like ice could cure ailments and injuries of other dragons, which created bonds with those who had been healed. Each of the dragons here were loyal to these medics of their world

Bob flew to the tack room with Dagur, as the chief returned there to fetch a treat for the prickleboggles. Sassa watched them briefly, but was distracted by movement from the middle pen, wherein a dragon had been resting with his back to the walkway. She turned to find herself nearly nose to muzzle with a brownish-purple face, sporting pointed teeth that stuck out over a yellow lower jaw. Great red eyes bored into her. She sucked in her breath. The reptile's three tails swished menacingly. Sassa took a tiny step backward. She knew better than to run, but she couldn't have, anyway. She was paralyzed with fear. She raised her hand, as if to ward off the beast, only thinking that she was much too close, and must somehow put distance between them. Her heart pounded in her ears. The tails made a clicking noise and snapped together into one. The dragon came right up, lifted his pointy snout, and nudged her fingers. Taming this brute had not been her intention, but the tails released, ceasing their oscillation, and the dragon regarded her almost expectantly.

Dagur exited the tack room to a horrific scene. Strykey had awoken and was stalking toward Sassa where she stood between the cages observing Magiccrystal and Deathmittens Pointyteeth. He was afraid to yell out to her, for fear she might run. That would excite the Triple Stryke, with possibly deadly consequences. The situation went from bad to worse when she sensed the shift and slowly pivoted. Triple strykes were known for being skittish around strangers. He should never have left her in that particular spot alone. He tried to edge behind her, coming from the middle passage. She put a foot behind her but did not progress back. With dread, Dagur watched Sassa's arm arc toward Strykey. Surely, she wouldn't attempt to tame him. Was the woman insane? Perhaps she deserved to be nicknamed "Deranged", he thought humorlessly. Strykey leaned his face to her. Dagur leapt across the way to Windshear's enclosure, prepared to take refuge under her wing, knowing a stream of fire or mist of acid was about to spew forth. The triple stryke nuzzled Sassa's palm, then leaned back. He looked at her with his "treat face". He must have smelled them. Dagur sidled up, saying softly, "Give him this." He provided the fruit he'd meant to feed the prickleboggles. Sassa didn't toss the fruit, though. It dawned on him that she hadn't set out to tame Strykey; her arm movement had been subconscious. She was in shock, staring into the pen glassily. He took her by the elbow, to assist. They cast the food in, and Dagur called, "Good boy, Mr. Triple Stryke!" as the animal greedily guzzled the fruit.

Dagur wasn't certain how to snap Sassa back. True to his impulsive nature, he did the first thing that came into his head. He grasped her head, pulled her forward, and gave her a resounding smack on the mouth. Sassed gaped a heartbeat longer. He perceived the instant recognition entered her golden eyes, and saw her posture relax. Then he felt the sting of her open hand slap his face. Dagur's heart leapt with desire. He wanted to kiss her again, just to find out if her reaction would be the same. Before he could put his plan into action, however, Sassa burst into tears. He'd seen soldiers do this. Strong, steady, fearless in battle, then once the danger passed, they fell apart. He'd snapped her out of her fright, now he needed to get her calmed. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a nearby stool. He sat, keeping her on his lap. She made no demur, still sobbing. Her head laid against his shoulder. He rubbed circles on her back until the shudders stopped and her weeping gave way to sniffles.

Sassa was humiliated. Not because she had hit Dagur, that had been almost a reflex. But she'd allowed him to hoist her up bodily, then place her on his knees, like a child. She should have jumped up immediately; instead, she'd curled against him. When he began stroking her, she felt immensely comforted. She was in disbelief that her life had not been snuffed out by that dragon. Dagur's kiss, followed by his caress, reminded her she was fully in the land of the living, her sensed not only intact, but amplified. Relief replaced dread, then came the mortification of the intimate pose in which they were seated. Sassa barely knew the Chieftain. To make matters even more awkward, her nose was running like a waterfall. She had no cloth and could see nothing around her to use. She finally pulled the kerchief from her head. She stood and blew her nose. She whirled toward the entrance and scurried out of the stable.

Dagur signaled to Bob, who'd returned from the tack room, then chased after Sassa. He caught up and grasped her hand. He didn't say anything, just fell into step with her. He slowed their pace a bit, but let the silence stretch. He disliked quiet, but had learned some painful lessons over his years, one of which was that others sometimes needed that absence of speech to think. He judged that Sassa required it now, so he kept his mouth shut. What would he say in any case? "I'm sorry my dragon almost annihilated you," or "You're so small and cuddly"? Dagur didn't figure the lady would take kindly to either. He led her back to her hut to collect her belongings. Upon reaching her satchel, she reached inside to retrieve her shawl, which she wrapped over her head. He abruptly broke the quietude with, "Why do you always cover your pretty curls?" He'd been wondering throughout her visit.

Sassa was yet agitated, and was, at first, taken aback by the blurted question. "It is the custom on Cloud Vale Island. I have worn a head covering for thirty years. I feel undressed without one. Plus, the wind over the sea feels chilly, so this will keep my ears warm." She could sense the rosy blush creeping over her neck and face. She hated the visible evidence of her discomfiture. All the way down from the stables, she had thought of the feel of Dagur's lips pressed to hers, his body against hers. She'd not missed the small compliment in his query, and she was unsure what it meant. He was a Chieftain, after all, and would surely seek out a woman who could give him more children for a mate. If he'd been interested in dalliance, why wait until her departure? She wasn't thinking straight after her harrowing experience, that was all. He had only brought her back from her state of semi-consciousness and comforted her, nothing more. She dropped her gaze and strode down to the beach. Dagur escorted Sassa, carrying her valise. Gaining the shoreline, he directed her to her longship, and assisted her inside. Bob perched on the bow. Dagur retained her fingers for a fleeting moment, placing a soft salute to their tips with his mouth, then released her. She could not sever the beam that connected those eyes, the color of the strong pines in a valley, from her own, until the ship began to move. She took her seat but scrutinized the figure on the coast until he disappeared from view.


	2. Cloud Vale Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagur visits Sassa's island to learn more about Christianity from her priest. How will her isolationist subjects react to the Berserker Chief?

Sassa was behind the royal longhouse with Rakki when Erik found her. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere, Mom! Oh hi, Rak! Are you enjoying your rocks, Boy?” Rakki snuffled his pleasure and devoured a few more. His eyes moved beyond Erik and widened. He pawed at the ground playfully and grunted happily.  
Sassa heard the shrill squeaking from overhead a second before seeing the shadow of the Terrible Terror. “Bob? Is that you?” The squawking became raucous and the wee dragon lit on her outstretched arm. A scroll of parchment was tied to his leg. Erik removed the paper deftly, unrolling it just enough to know that the writing wasn’t Hiccup’s. Sassa signaled “stay” to Bob, who flew over to Rakki. The two reptilians frisked about merrily while she went through the runes. Dagur had it from Frida that Bjorn would like to try out a trading expedition, and that she had arranged with a trader who happened to be at Caldera Cay at the time to take him on as far as Orkney. Bjorn’s dragon, a moldruffle called Firestorm, had flown back to Berserker Island. With that settled, he could come anytime Father Ansgar found convenient, if she’d send a reply. Sassa looked up at Erik. “It’s from the Berserker Chieftain. His son will be sailing for a while and he’d like to visit with our priest. Please send a servant to inquire if Father Ansgar has a preference as to when he can entertain a guest.” She continued to observe the dragons having a nice frolic until the maid came back with the reply that anytime before winter would be favorable. Erik brought out a stool, a wooden board, length of paper, and container of carbon ink with quill. Sassa composed a quick note indicating a sojourn could be accommodated within the next three moon cycles. She rolled the sheet, called Bob, who had been supplied with food and water while she wrote, and reused the twine to affix her letter to his leg. She gave the signal for Berserker Island and watched him take off. Rakki came to lie next to her. She absently rubbed his abdomen as she fell into abstraction. Her return to Cloud Vale had brought such a flurry of fascination from the jarls, she’d finally called a town meeting. She told of the tribal leaders, the Berserker people, and the island itself. She related the tale of meeting the dragons, with no mention of the horror she’d suffered, or it’s aftermath. Sassa proceeded to inform them of the impending excursion of the Chief to their village. The news was met with dismay, as expected. The elders of the tribe recalled Dagur’s vicious rampages throughout the Barbaric Archipelago when they were young, which had been rekindled by his son’s harassment. Everyone was suspicious of any foreigner. Sassa well remembered her own arrival here; she’d not been fully accepted into the community until her first pregnancy. After years of nursing her husband, though, she’d been accorded, not only respect, but the ultimate affirmation when the jarls chose her as Regent for Erik. She allayed their concerns with the certainty that Dagur was not, in truth, so deranged- more eccentric and argumentative these days. More importantly, he would be there to study the Christian faith with Father Ansgar, so there would be minimal impact to their daily lives. This disclosure confounded the gathered company. She ended the assembly while they were too stunned to complain further. She’d thought she’d received a reprieve when weeks went by with no word from Berserker Island. A full lunar cycle went by, and Sassa had concluded Dagur’s attention had been caught by other passing fancies, leading him to forget about his curiosity about Christianity. And forget about her. She could shove the relentless thoughts of him away during the day with so much to do and oversee. Even when teaching Erik about their Archipelago neighbors and diplomacy, she focused on her task. At night, though, her dreams betrayed her. Dagur was there, awaiting her, when she closed her eyes. His brawny arms pulled her into his warm embraces. His lips enjoined hers. His eyes laughed down into her own. As the weeks wore on, his form became less distinct, blurring, a hazy impression of the man. Until finally, her nocturnal images centered once again around the Kithandkin society. Rakki flipped back onto his feet, breaking Sassa’s reverie. She gave him a pat on his head, and he flew away. Retrieving the writing implements. She began to make a list of tasks to prepare for Dagur and his servants.  
Dagur stepped into his longship with the Skrill carved into the bow. He chose to sail, rather than rid Strykey, not only due to the incident with Sassa- he didn’t want to scare her further- but also because Cloud Vale Island had no dragon stables. With a temporary resolution to the issue with Bjorn, Dagur was able to turn his attention to other matters. Bjorn had taken his sweet time getting to Caldera Cay, no doubt carousing and causing vexation at the Northern Markets. Dagur had also had to assemble a small force to repel some marauders from the new nation of Norway who thought Berserker Island looked like a good place to take over. Heather, Harald, and just a few ships from the Armada took care of that. He was impatient to set a time to see Sassa again and get acquainted with Father Ansgar and this God of theirs. Knowing he couldn’t commit to anything without other matters dealt with, he waited until Frida’s communication to get the ball rolling. Heather would be in charge, with Harald as her Second, until his return. They could handle anything that came along as well as he could. Harald suggested early autumn as a good time to go, after harvesting was done, most likely on both isles. Dagur was appreciative of the practicality that Harald had inherited from his mother. He’d not spared a thought for the harvest and celebrations that accompanied it. His thoughts drifted continually between Sassa and her God. He was fixated on the moments by her sickbed and especially in the stables. He’d discovered delightful curves while he’d comforted her on his lap. He wanted to explore them further under more appropriate circumstances. Those meditations led in a decidedly sensual direction. But his intentional meditations were constantly hindered by his curiosity about this Trinity thing. He’d persisted with talking and praying to Him, Them, whatever. But before he could buy into this strange religion, he needed to know about the Heaven place and if his family was there. At last, he had embarked. He and his men rowed out until the sail finally filled to propel the craft. He loved the water almost as much as the air. Sailing along with the cool spray occasionally striking his face was rather similar to soaring through clouds atop a dragon. Both brought adventure and a break from the familiar. He’d mellowed over the years, finding challenge in defense of his homeland from other Viking tribes who cam the south and the east looking to conquer and settle other lands. Ha! They soon found that Berserkers safeguarded their own with ferocity. Still, Dagur relished a voyage with fresh views and obstacles to stimulate his faculties. Several hours later, Cloud Vale was spotted. The oars were pulled to navigate as his excitement built. The vessel landed, the sailors stepped out, and were aided by Valers to bring the ship up the beach. His gaze lit on Sassa, standing on a grassy hillock just above the rocky shoreline. She was attired in her best clothes, he could tell. Her underdress was linen, but her bright russet apron dress sported embroidery across the skirt. Her brooches were gold with several lengths of glass beads dangling between. She wore a belt around her waist, from which a knife hung. Over top of all, she had donned a deep blue wool robe edged in intricate braided trim held by her gold trilobed brooch. Her customary head scarf was in place, but this was russet, to match her pinafore. The sun was angled, giving her skin a golden glow. She had the appearance of a much younger woman. Only the gray of the curls that had fallen from under her kerchief gave her away. Even up close, she had fine lines, but no deep wrinkles. Dagur advanced up the slope to meet her.  
“Welcome to Cloud Vale Island, Chief Dagur,” Sassa greeted. “It is nearly dinnertime, so you will meet Father Ansgar in the Great Hall soon. My servants are carting your belongings to the guest house and villagers are showing your sailors to their quarters. If you don’t mind, I was hoping to introduce you to my son. He will be Chieftain here in a few years, so he should make your acquaintance. If now is inconvenient, I can schedule another time.”  
Dagur smiled down at her, almost like her dreams. “Now would be just fine,” he assured her. “I am curious to meet the young man. You have done so much to prepare him for leadership.”  
Sassa felt a small bit of pride at these words, though she knew she’d have to ask forgiveness for it. The Kithandkin Tribe had chosen to stay isolated from the rest of the Archipelago for so long. This had partly led to the sickly disposition of the royal family. She’d been brought in to bring new blood to their line. She wanted them to be on terms with the other societies, especially Berk, to make visits easier and expand allies. She couldn’t do much. As Regent, she did not have absolute power. She was preparing Erik to pull his people into a more progressive society. She’d succeeded having Hiccup and Astrid, and even the Dragon Riders, made acceptable to her new people. They were her family and former community, though. Bringing in a Berserker Chief was anathema to them. Once a date was set, she’d had to put down a small rebellion, backed up by Hilde, the last of the pure royals, and the priest. Now that Dagur had arrived, she hoped his inquisitiveness about their religion truly would keep him occupied, for all their sakes. A little imp in the back of her mind whispered that she’d be thrilled to be duty-bound to entertain him for a while, on behalf of her villages, of course.  
He was garbed in his habitual Skrill armor. She hoped he’d brought some practical clothes. Not only would he be in the church or a longhouse during most of his studies, but she didn’t want the clans to see his outfit as an act of aggression. These reflections chased around her brain as she indicated items of interest. At last, they attained her longhouse. IN the center, three young men lounged around a fire. Two were engaged in a game of hnefatafl. Upon Sassa’s entrance, they scrambled to their feet. She introduced the gamers first, sons of jarls. She bade them to continue their board game. Next, she presented Erik. Her son was polite, articulate, and assured. He gave Dagur just the right amount of deference as an elder but held his own as acknowledged heir to the chiefdom of the Kithandkin. Sassa felt a keen sense of satisfaction that, in the first exposure Erik had to someone who would be his equal in position, outside of family, the boy was confident and comported himself well. She allowed them to chat for a short spell, then left Erik with his friends to usher Dagur to his hut. She pointed out the Great Hall as they proceeded past. The church was bounded by Father Ansgar’s residence on one side and the guest house on the other. She apprised him that the priest would collect him for supper and left him to unpack his possessions.  
Dinner was a chatty affair. Amongst the deer, pork, peas, onions, cabbage, and apples, were stories of dragons, dragon hunters, and even prison. Dagur took care to make his time locked up on Outcast Island sound as miserable as possible, so that the impressionable young men at table would not glorify this aspect of his misbegotten youth. Sassa, Hilde, Erik and his compatriots, plus their families and a few other jarl family groups, along with Father Ansgar, whiled away the evening getting to know one another. The adolescents peppered Dagur with questions about his exploits, the seniors interrogated him on the welfare and prosperity of his people. He enjoyed being the center of attention, and especially the admiration of the boys. He was aware that he tended toward conceit. He reminded himself that his salad days were long over, but between the wine and accolades, he felt exalted. He began to ask questions of the company before he became too narcissistic. All were eager to show the Kithandkin folks and Cloud Vale Island as worthy, so learned a great deal. He made a mental note to ask more questions of individuals outside of formal suppers. He could learn a good deal more about their illustrious Chieftainess this way.  
The following morning, after a good night’s sleep and a tasty breakfast, Dagur was greeted by Father Ansgar at his door. The pair bypassed the church, though, and settled in at the priest’s home. The clergyman explained that he wanted the church to be open to the parishioners for prayer, and since the Chief’s pilgrimage was for study, this would be the best place to go over the tenants of the faith. Father Ansgar was born in Denmark and was familiar with the Viking gods. He used them as a starting point to compare and contrast the religions. After a couple of hours, he judged that he and his pupil should go strolling as they talked, as Dagur was restless and fidgety. They hiked all around the isle, while the cleric taught and Dagur threw out a bevy of challenges. The Trinity was a difficult concept for all, but the priest did his best to explain. Like one plant with three leaves was the Christian God, and each were worthy and equal. Prayers and petitions could be applied to each or all.  
The Berserker was satisfied with the day’s lesson, but for one thing. He had recounted the summary of the system of beliefs he’d heard from Sassa as a start to the study. But they’d not discussed Heaven, and he had to know. “What happens to people, like most of the Vikings, who’ve never heard of this God? Do they get to go to Heaven?  
Father Ansgar heard and understood the urgency of the query. “First, let me tell you that Paul, an apostle, or advocate, of Jesus, whom we will discuss later, addressed this issue in a letter to the Romans of his time. The letter is recorded in our Scriptures. Let’s return to my hut, so I may read it to you. We can eat a bite, as well. I’m sure you’re a bit peckish after all.” They hurried back and the clergyman rolled open a scroll. “Here it is:

‘For it is not those who hear the law who are righteous in God’s sight, but it is those who obey the law who will be declared righteous. Indeed, when Gentiles (or non-Jews) who do not have the law, do by nature things required of the law, they are a law for themselves, even thought they do not have the law. They show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness. And they’re thoughts sometimes accusing them and at other times defending them. This will take place on the day when God judges people’s secrets through Jesus Christ, as my gospel (or good news) declares.’

This tells us that those who didn’t hear the gospel formally are judged by their hearts and consciences as to whether they followed the teachings of our Lord, even without knowing them. I can’t give you an answer any more specific. But as you discover these teachings, you will have a better foundation to evaluate whether your loved ones who have passed on are in Heaven. We can begin looking at Jesus’ teachings tomorrow.”  
Dagur nodded and thanked the cleric for the day’s lesson. He was frustrated that he’d gotten no resolution and would have to wait another day to even seek a conclusion. This was the state in which Sassa found him when she ventured over to the church. He was pacing outside. She invited him down to the shore on the far side of Cloud Vale. Tied to a tree above the rocks was a dory. She loosed the knot. Dagur picked up the boat and oar. He vented some of his vexation rowing and grumbling. Sassa let him rant, sensing that he needed to let it out. They floated about the bay for a time. The sky was losing light quickly when Dagur rowed back to the beach. They retied the skiff and trekked to the Great Hall for supper. They dined with a different group of jarls. He was much more himself and the meal proceeded genially.  
For a week, Dagur spent most of his day with the old clergyman. Whether in the hut or out roaming, they discussed Jesus’ birth, life, resurrection, and ascension. Dagur felt he understood mostly about the Son of God, the easiest part of the Trinity. He was also somewhat mollified when Father Ansgar set aside time to peruse the Ten Commandments and how they related, not only to Jesus as fulfillment of the law, but as the measure of righteousness. It sounded to the Berserker as if Mala, and by extension, his baby girl must be in Heaven. This conviction motivated him to keep going on in the study of Christianity. There were still God the Father and the Holy Spirit to learn about, after all. Evenings were delightful after all the mental power he spent during the day. Each jarl family had had dinner in the Great Hall over the duration of his stay so far. The karls would next be given the opportunity to sup with him. Dagur was still basking in the attention he received but charmed the company with his reciprocated attentiveness when they spoke of their home and their rulers. No one seemed to realize that he didn’t retain much of the information they gave regarding Cloud Vale. His expression was rapt, and they took it at face value. He was rapt- over all the data he gleaned touching on Sassa. He observed how she used his stories as teaching points, not only for Erik, but for her people. Most didn’t deduce that her comments were for them, as well, since she directly addressed her son. She made her points in an unnecessarily voluble tone over dinner, rather than in private later, a tactic he’d been taught by Mala and Heather. It was a technique female leaders used to combat male arrogance, Mala had told him smugly, after she’d done it to him. After the meal, though, Sassa invited him to her longhouse to unwind before bedtime. Erik, his Aunt Hilde, and Hilde’s assistant were always there, too, and it was cozy. Hilde was wise in the way of people’s follies and offered sage advice on how to get on with each family and elder he met. Her assistant would take on that role once the karls joined the meals. The family, though, was a fount of detail on Sassa. Their stories and tales gave him a glimpse of the woman behind the Leader persona. What emerged was a picture of fortitude, conscientiousness, efficiency, yet compassion and caring. Hilde lamented once that Sassa’s firmness and strength of mind sometimes obscured the desire to nurture and defend the people to whom it was directed. Dagur had come to respect the lady during her illness on Berserker Island but now he held her in high regard. She was almost a feminine version of Hiccup. By his second week there, he knew how to navigate around the isle by himself. When his session with the priest were over, he’d taken to chatting with the artisans and farmers, if they weren’t too busy. Everyone was preparing for winter, just as his own people were, but some enjoyed a moment’s respite to converse. He was aware he couldn’t stay here much longer, only until the first snow. The winter storms would follow soon after, making for treacherous travel. He wanted to learn more about the religion, of course, and to spend more companionable eventides with the royal Kithandkin family. Time and weather were in opposition to his inclination, though, so he resolved to savor every moment.  
One morning, Dagur received a note from the cleric that a matter at the church building needed to be tended to, but they would resume as usual the following day. Dagur hiked around the island, exploring the forest on the western side, especially. There were no homes here, where winter storms would come across the ocean and produce substantial snows in blizzard conditions. The trees would at least take the brunt of the winds and the highest precipitation, so this area was uncut and uncultivated. There was a peaceful atmosphere about this forest, like the others around the Archipelago. He rested on a fallen log and prayed a simple prayer he’d learned that came from the Scriptures, called the “Our Father” by the priest. He was certain that this God was speaking to him. A rite known as baptism was the way to make the conversion, but his home had no church or priest, and he would rather be baptized on Berserker Island. His people would need to see this for themselves if they were to accept it. He rose from his perch to head back to the village. He came across Erik with his friends. The lads were carting a load of boulders they’d foraged in the woods. He could hear other voices, as well, the sounds of horses, and the crunch of leaves. “Why Hello!” he greeted the young men. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone in the weald. Are you gathering winters supplies?”  
“Yes. Good day to you, Chief Dagur. We are gathering food for the dragons and the men are gathering firewood to be stored,” Erik replied. “Our cart,” the youth gestured toward his comrades, “goes up to my house, rather than the beach, like the rest. My mother has a dragon she’s made friends with who visits her out back, so we leave food for Rak there.”  
“A gronckle, hm? And is Rak the name?”  
“Yes, Sir. That’s what I call him. Mom named him Rakki.”  
Dagur grinned. “Yes, a gronckle does tend to act very dog-like. I have a gronckle. Like any good dog he is friendly but could battle like any warrior. I’ll tag along with you, if I may. I don’t have any lessons today and I’d love to see the smithy, if I am permitted to watch.”  
Erik grimaced at the mention of the smithy, but led the horse pulling the wagon on, while the other fellows walked behind. “We’ll pass the smithy on the way.”  
Dagur heard the anvil before he reached the building. The blacksmith was making an axe, failing to notice the Berserker for a few minutes. When the iron worker finally looked up, he scowled. “Well, what do ye want?”  
“I just want to watch,” stated Dagur. “Smithing is quite important. In capable hands, it determines most of the defense and farming for an island.”  
“Are ye suggesting I’m not capable?” the blacksmith roared.  
“Of course not.” Dagur was startled by the man’s aggressive reaction. He knew he better tamp down his annoyance or he’d escalate the situation. He bit his tongue, then replied steadily, “I can see you are very busy. I bid you good day.”  
“Aye, I’m always busy. Not a layabout like some people around here!” The sound of the hammer strikes resumed, louder than before.  
Dagur move along toward Sassa’s longhouse. The doors were open for additional lighting, so he entered, but saw no one. He exited out the back to find Sassa playing with her gronckle. “Ah, Erik told me about your dragon. The magic touch with the creatures must run in the family. Erik said you named him ‘Dog’.”  
“Yes, I did. He reminds me of a dog Bucket had when I was a child on Berk. This is probably my last visit with Rakki this year. He’s heading south with the birds for winter. Will you be heading home soon? We don’t mind if you stay, of course, but I thought you’d go back to Berserker Island for the season.”  
“Yes, that is my plan,” Dagur acknowledged. “I’ll stay until the first bit of snow.”  
“That could be any day now,” Sassa predicted. “It will become dreary, dark, and a rather more boring. I’ve enjoyed your stories of an evening.”  
“Since Rakki is here and you’re already sitting, let me regale you with a yarn about Shattermaster and me!” Hilde appeared in the doorway. “Just in time. Join us for a tale of adventure!” Hilde settled on a stool next to Sassa. Dagur recounted the time he proved to Hiccup that Dragon Hunters, led by Viggo Grimborn, had set a trap for the Dragon Riders. Heather had been with the Dragon Riders at The Edge during that time, but they’d not reconciled, yet. He’d been trying, though. He’d been afraid for her safety, so he and Shattermaster went in ahead. When the Riders saw the firepower the Hunters had amassed, they retreated. Heather remained unharmed. He explained how he and Shattermaster had survived to close the story. Even Rakki looked impressed. Dagur was feeling rather pleased with himself. Come twilight, after supper, the temperature plummeted. Autumn was advancing quickly but frosty nights were expected. This was a hard, frigid cold, more like deep winter. Winds were gusting and everyone had wrapped themselves in reindeer furs around the fire. Father Ansgar and Dagur were there to pass the time before slumber, as had become their habit. Hilde wouldn’t hear of them repairing back to separate residences where no fires had been lit as yet. She sent their servants to sleep with the royal retainers in their area and called for fur-lined and wool blankets to brought to the priest and to the Chief. With so many people and a nice blaze, the longhouse was relatively warm. Everyone slept soundly. The morning came, but the weak sunshine helped very little. Father Ansgar conducted the day’s instruction still inside Sassa’s home.  
In late afternoon, Dagur went down to where his sailors were housed to direct them to prepare for departure soon. He notified Sassa and the cleric of his intention to return to his homeland. The repast in the Great Hall was mouthwatering, the company cheerful. Erik played his bone flute that the father of one of his buddies had made and taught the two young men to play. Thus, everyone was stunned when the door was flung open and jarls burst inside. The blacksmith boomed, “We are calling a meeting with the Chieftainess. All you karls get back to your abodes. Father Ansgar, take the foreign chief back to your hut. This is Cloud Vale business!”  
Sassa was determined not to show her discomposure. She calmly stood, gestured to the Chief’s Chair, which Erik moved to the center of the Hall, where she normally sat to administer law and settle disputes. Erik and Hilde took up positions on either side of her. “I am aware that jarls have the power to call Councils, but I am unaware of any crisis that necessitates this sort of commotion. State your grievance.” She sat, spine straight, her mouth an implacable line.  
“It is time for that intruder to go home!” intoned the visibly irate jarl. “He has been nothing but a nuisance since he got here! Now he’s hindering good village folk from their work with winter coming on. I’ve seen him chatting up farmers all over the village, the women hanging on his every work, rather than hanging the laundry, and children begging for stories while chores are neglected. You told us he wouldn’t inconvenience us, but he is! Now he looks to stay! Not only that, we know he stayed in your longhouse last night. For shame! You call yourself a Christian woman! You know you can’t marry no heathen under our laws, so you must be thinking of dalliance and fornication. We don’t need a woman no better than she should be to rule over us. You need to take a husband here on Cloud Vale, and pass the Chiefdom to your son, now!”  
“Silence!” Sassa coldly exclaimed. “Hilde and I, as the charitable Christian women that we are, offered hospitality to BOTH Father Ansgar and Chief Dagur, who slept upon our floor, because our longhouse was warm, given the frozen temperatures of the night. Their servants were also given rest among our own. I will ask Father Ansgar to say a prayer for you, that these kinds of salacious thoughts will not lead you bear false witness again. As for your grievance. has the Berserker Chief disrupted you personally, and in what way?”  
The smith puffed up with anger. “He came to my smithy and tried to get me to stop and babble. I’ve also seen…”  
“No. I don’t want to hear what you’ve seen. Others can air their complaints in turn. How long did the Chief converse with you and what was his reaction to your reproval?”  
“I didn’t give him any time. I told him straightaway he wasn’t welcome!”  
“And?”  
“And I sent him off!”  
“So, a moment’s exchange and he left?”  
“Yes, but that’s not the point.”  
“That is the point, since that is your accusation. Let’s see if anyone else is disgruntled.” Sassa’s voice was measured as she strove to keep her temper. “Does any other jarl want to lodge a charge?”  
Three jarls rose to join the iron worker. She beckoned one forward. “Yes?”  
“That foreign man made my wife stop in the middle of sorting herbs to talk.”  
Sassa held in an exasperated sigh. “How did your wife explain herself?”  
The man mumbled, “She said he asked politely, and she was almost done.”  
“If he asked, and was not refused, the fault lies with your wife, not the Chief. Next!”  
The final artisan stepped forward. “My neighbor, Sigurd, told me...”  
“No! I have already disallowed hearsay. Is Sigurd here?”  
“He didn’t want to come, with his children feeling poorly,” the old jarl spat pugnaciously.  
Sassa was unyielding. “Then he has missed his opportunity. However, since your royal family loves all the people of Cloud Vale, Hilde will be more than happy to look in on the children tomorrow, unless Sigurd should need her sooner. I know that, as a kind citizen, you will pass that message to him. This is your final opportunity: any other grievances?”  
The three jarls encouraged their peers to stand with them, but no others came forward. “I find Chief Dagur absolved of responsibility in these complaints. Should he choose to stay, I expect him to be treated with civility. I do not demand that you speak with him, should he happen by. However, if any of you dare to accuse me of fornication that is so easily disproven, in an attempt to sully my reputation or incite others to do the same, I will bring the weight of not only Cloud Vale law, but also the Ecclesiastical Law, against you. This assembly is adjourned. Goodnight.”

Dagur scrambled behind the Great Hall, as the first of the jarls absented the place. He’d listened in, much to the consternation of the priest, whom he’d sent off. Dagur recognized the blacksmith as the ringleader and wanted to be on hand if anything turned ugly. Although I had, indeed been hostile, it had not been violent. There were a couple of time he’d almost charged in, ready to do battle. Each time, though, Sassa’s calm, measured voice shot down the man’s disputes with arrow precision. Her master stroke was her blunt warning that she was his judge, and nothing, short of a treasonous coup, could change that. A grab for power did not seem to be a threat, as very few of the jarls supported the blacksmith. Dagur was relieved he’d already made the choice to depart; he didn’t want to bring any more trouble on Sassa. But he was downcast, as well. He’d hoped to cultivate something more that a political alliance with the Chieftainess, maybe even kiss and hold her with her willing consent before he sailed. That was not to be. As he trudged back to Father Ansgar’s hut, he observed the ground whitening with snow. He struggled most of the night to resign himself to remaining a bachelor. Even when he converted to Christianity, it didn’t appear that Sassa’s people would accept him. He’d envisioned this trip as the first step in a courtship, but his dreams had been dashed. Sassa had reawakened feelings and yearnings that he’d assumed dead with Mala. Now they tortured him with their futility. There were just a few inches of snow come morning. Father Ansgar and Dagur breakfasted while the sailors fitted shields along the gunwales of the longship for protection from winds and waves until they were underway. The shields didn’t stay in place well under rough seas but made for a fine display. The cleric had explained about the Ecclesiastical Court, then handed over a prepared parchment of prayers for Dagur to take back to Berserker Island, to accompany the scrolls of notes the Chieftain had taken. Once winter had passed, they could make plans for more lessons, but those would now need to take place in the Berserker homeland. The necessary arrangements could be made later and Dagur was ready to set forth before the sun rose. He was accompanied to his ship by the Father, the royal Kithandkin family, and a handful of jarls. The agitators of the previous night were not in attendance. Sassa was again arrayed in her most splendid garments and jewelry. His heart twisted in his chest as he bowed to her. “Thank you for your most gracious hospitality, for sharing your priest with me, and the delightful tales each twilight,” he declared. He presented a square wooden box covered with carved sheets of ivory. Gilt-bronze bands engraved with a tendril pattern were fitted over the seams. “The casket is for you, Sassa, as a gift from Chief to Chieftainess. Inside, you’ll find coins to aid in the repair to any remaining buildings as reparation for Bjorn’s unjustifiable raids, given from the Berserker Island coffers. We wish to have peace with the Kithandkin Tribe of Cloud Vale Island.” He lowered his volume slightly. “There will be festivities next summer marking a change of Second-in-Command to my son, Harald, and a new position for my sister, Heather. I will send an invitation by Terror Mail. I hope you’ll be able to come.” He addressed these last remarks to Sassa, Erik, and Hilde. Then, after a last word of gratitude to the cleric, he climbed aboard his ship. Cloud Vale sailors pushed the vessel out as oarsmen began to row. Soon, the lamps carried by the Cloud Valers were swallowed up by the grey of pre-dawn. Dagur felt heartache and desolation wash over him like the waves over the oars that carried him away.


End file.
